


The Photograph

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: Phryne's father has a photograph that he brings out when he's been drinking. The girls will press either side of him, desperate for a glimpse at the man pictured.





	The Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> This was a twenty minute prompt fic from [this photograph](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/90/RobertCornelius.jpg).

Phryne's father has a photograph that he brings out when he's been drinking. The girls will press either side of him, desperate for a glimpse at the man pictured. He's young, the sternness of his face belied by the unruliness of his hair, and fascinating.

"George Henry Fisher," their father slurs, tapping his finger on the edge of the paper. "Youngest son of the Baron of Richmond, and your grandad."

The girls have never touched the photograph, knowing that such a presumption will earn them a sharp rap on their knuckles, but Phryne's eyes inevitably meet Janey's over their father's bowed head and they _imagine_ it. They've heard all the stories of George Fisher, the young man determined to prove himself in a new country. "It's just a matter of time," Henry will always say, "until we get what's coming for us."

They know their father has big dreams, big schemes; they are roped into helping him from the time they are babies, before they can really understand that their father believes that the way out of Collingwood is on the shoulders of other men, before they realise that he he truly believes that it's his birthright.

It's not an naivety that can persist, but in these moments with the smell of ale and tobacco on his breath, the girls can _pretend_ , just for a moment, that this is all real. One day their ship will come in, their fortunes restored, their rightful place in circles their cousins inhabit available to them.

"When we're rich," Phryne will whisper that night, huddled beneath a scratchy blanket in the bed they share, "we'll have all the photographs in the world. I'll purchase a camera and learn to use it, until the entire house is filled with our faces." And Janey will laugh, promising to model for Phryne's photographs and pulling silly expressions that Phryne can barely make out in the weak moonlight.

Janey disappears, and the fantasy does to. There are no photos of Janey Fisher, just a policeman's sketch that has it all just a little bit wrong—the ears too small, the brow too thin, her vivacity lost.

It takes nearly a year before her father brings out the photograph again. He's drunk—if he was drunk often before Janey disappeared, he's gotten worse—and slurring something awful. He leans back in the chair, waiting for Phryne to crowd around as she once did, ready to be impressed by his tales of tragic misfortune and destiny. She glances at the empty space at the other side, and leaves the room instead.

Three days later, when Henry's on another bender, Phryne finds the photograph in a drawer and learns what it smells like as it burns.


End file.
